


Relic

by WarriorOmen



Category: 00Silva-Fandom, James Bond - Fandom, Skyfall - Fandom
Genre: Action, Depression, Identity, M/M, drugs/alcohol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorOmen/pseuds/WarriorOmen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months following the death of M; James Bond finds himself locked in a state of depression and increasing failures that threaten his 007 status. Now, with a series of attacks taking place at every land mark in London; M offers Bond an ultimatum. Stop the attacks and defuse the bombs; or leave MI6 for good.</p><p>(Written for the 00Silva Gift exchange)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sfumatosoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfumatosoup/gifts).



Rare rays of deep golden sunlight filtered their way through the two paneled window; just over looking a single oak table and breaching their way through the half empty bottle of MaCallan's Thirty Year Cask Whiskey. Giving a sort of rich amberesque light to the empty matte surface of the single hand held Walther PPK. Over the fine rounded barrel and short stock, passing over the magazine to the single,scruffy and unkempt head of the sleeping visage that beheld the rooms only,sad occupant.

Near the crowning frontal cortex, there was a definitive patch where grey met blonde in a tangled dance of both denial and reality. That chronic struggle between what you wanted to be and what reality reminded was in fact, your true being.

Waking was misery, and the sunlight, squinted back brought him no joy.

For what good was light when all that existed inside was but dark and enclosed? A space where penetration was futile less you've a drill?

A hand met thick, ratty stubble. His body creaked and groaned with the agony of an elderly chair, wood of course, as he stood and padded to the bathroom. Staring at teal blue tiles and deep white ceramic that reminded him of the mundanity of continuation.

Completing the simple morning task was easy, and he denied the needed shave as harshly as he avoided catching his reflection in the mirror. 

At the fridge, his stomach reminded him that he wasn't hungry anyway. Even if the calendar mocked of the days gone by where he'd failed to fill the gauntness of his mid section.

What was one more day?

London,the world. They didn't need him anyway. Continual failures of bygone months had put him on 'extended leave' until 'absolutely needed'.

But the threat of age and beyond redemption continued to hang over his head, as every new hire was paraded thus to MI6. Bright faced,eager and glaringly more prepared than he might ever be.

Were James to leave the sanctity of his sterile flat, he'd notice that as the hour struck noon; every political official in the city was getting the same, ominous email. Although it all varied in location and time given based on whom the recipient was.

Instead, he found himself with a hand round the bottle of choice, closing the blinds to the glaring sun and world below.

Until his phone went off,interrupting his blissful melancholy. When he declined, the static voice mail picked up.

“Bond. Don't be pretending you're not in.' Came a filtered version of Mallory's voice. “You hardly go anywhere else. We've got trouble and we need you.' He hung up,and James sighed to his bottle.

'Don't see what all it matters” He grumbled. 'Not like I'd make much of a difference.”

But duty called-and that was the only thing that forced him out of the chair, knocking the bottle to it's side as he went.

~~

“You're sacking me.” James hated Mallory's office. Centered within the restored MI6. A glaring reminder of what no longer existed.

“No. I'm giving you a final chance. Because too be quite honest,Bond..” Mallory sighed, resting his hand upon his thigh. 'You bring with you the sort of rustic antiquity that should have died with her. Prove me wrong-and we'll keep you on the payroll. That is if you can find the will to crawl out of the bottom of that bottle for twenty minutes and be half the man you're supposed to be.”

When Bond declined to answer, Mallory continued, handing him the black file folder. “Q will update you. See that you listen to him.”

~~

“From what we've gathered, on the hour of 12 every single official in the city that is somehow associated with the government received the same threatening e-mail. There is a location of a bomb given at the end of each one. With four hundred and ninety-two letter's in total-that's nearly every part of England from the Tower of London to schools. We've got less than two days and-”

Q stopped, glasses slipping halfway down his nose as he regarded Bond tersely, “007 are you even listening?”

“Yes! Your voice is a lovely sort of parrot in my ear please,continue.”

Q shook his head, disgruntled, but he continued. “As I was saying,we've got less than two days and some might go off before that. I've been tracing the servers of the emails, but, naturally I receive different hits on each.”

“Different proxy's, different servers.' Bond intoned. 'You've obliviously got a network.”

“Which is why we need you to diffuse the bombs as I find them.”

“Should be simple enough.” James responded, already heading for the door, taking note of the pin points on the map; glaring on the screen. 'See? You got the first two already.”

“Don't be so sure, 007! Remember,this is your last chance.”

Bond didn't respond, but the doors slamming behind him sure did.

~~

Sunlight may have passed it's course; but that did nothing to hinder the splendour within. A flat hugged in only the richest of colours, and an array of spectacles that further added to the overall gaudiness of it's walls.

Dark puple accenting the livingroom, blood red for the bedroom, a pattern of cyan and lime in the kitchen. Furniture of black,white, cheery, green apple, and so many more. As though a rainbow had exploded in Bloomsbury.

Amongst the cluster of colour,the sole occupant of the flat reclined in a bright orange chair, feet clad in silk pyjama pants of wine coloured red, crossed at the ankle. A tablet placed in his lap as he scrolled through the headlines. Dark auburn hair hanging over one eye as he did so, chewing against his bottom lip. 

London in panic. So the computer he kept well tapped into the MI6 network (thank you, Q) informed him. 

Panic caused not by he, but those who might try to emmulate tactic's he'd but perfected over his formittable years. 

With the only sound he uttered being a casual sigh, his feet fell from their place against the table,bringing him back to the ground wherein he stood, poised and approaching the only mirror he kept in the entire flat that was floor length,

Make up. A truly great invention of society. Allowing for him to cover up the dark circles under his sunken eyes. Keep the dented cheekbones high and flushed, even though the fresh beard covered much.

Flashy clothes, flashier attire. All did a remarkable job of hiding the true beast within. The plaguing sorrow that kept his heart tethered to vines of regret and morbid acceptance for his true state.

“I am punished with my own mortality, made to suffer through living and denied even the simpliest of all human characteristics..what many humans fear, I've come to dread as the impossible.”

What soothed him; was that he truly was not the only one who was left suffering. Branded by yet another scar. One of both the physical,and the spiritual.

He'd been keeping tabs on Bond as long as he could. And the sorry state of Britian's top agent was truly enough to make any cringe with despair. 

Well.

He had tried to warn him,after all. Bond might think he was entirely aware of the shortened life expectancy and the disposability of the Agent; but he doubted he was aware of just how crushing it was to become so.

“Oh Jamie, Jamie, Jamie.' Pulling on his coat, smoothing over slight wrinkles that would dampen his ornate, perfect appearance. “If only you had but listened to me, my rat.”

 

~~

Racing through the streets of London in condensed traffic, James could almost feel the heartbeat pulsatig through his veins, yanking the steering wheel to run yet another red light, body thrumming form tension and excitement.

An ache settled in his chest as the replacement Aston glided beneath his feet, the ground vibrating beneath his gas pedal. Blood running tracks through his veins. 

It had been sometime since he felt this enthralled. This excited. The preliminary ache in his aging bones put aside for the new fervour and challenge. Where his brain and body mostly wanted to say no to the challenge,his pride (whatever remained of it) pushed on.

Against the voice in his head that drove his body to numbness, he pressed on, Continued in his pathway of the so called 'greater good' MI6 operated under. At least, so they claimed too. 

Finally,he reached the capital building. All but throwing himself from the car as he raced to park haphazardly sideways against the curbside. Meter blissfully ignored as he charged forward. Surpassing four stairs at once and busting into the glass dome like of the building.

It had been evacuated, empty save for the police trying to find the supposed bomb and deactivate it. Charging past uniforms,suits and other various men of the law that he rarely cooperated with. Depending on the situation. 

Like himself, they considered MI6 to be old fashioned and over blown. A relic company still wanting it's trophy for feats long passed over.

Stairs befelled him, but with the lift down for the threat,there was little else he could do. Energy not nearly at it's peak but adrenaline convincing him otherwise.

Somewhere upon the seventh landing, James felt his lungs stretch beyond their limits with his non-diet and alcoholic fuel, forcing him almost double over with every stretch of air creating a painful pull against his rib cage.

“I don't think so..” James wheezed to himself, hands gripping his knees, denying just how grossly out of shape he was. Forcing his body to reinflate itself.

Above, a single strand of wire descened, followed by another, braced out on either side to hold the almost peacefully reclining figure in it's wake. Out of focus, James glanced up, eyeing shiny white leather shoes, sky blue silk, and a face covered partially by a brunette beard and long, wave like copper hair. Upon his hand rested what James could see to be a small tablet, held precariously in white gloved fingers.

“You wouldn't be looking for this now,would you? 007?”

Raising himself to full height, James withdrew the Walther, already cocked. “Five seconds.”

“Please,darling.” Copper haired sighed. 'Take another look.”

A frown,but James did, crystal eyes narrowing as he noticed the fragmentation of wires protruding from the tablet.

“You..”

“It took me less time to find and deactivate this little thing than it did for you to drive here from the headquarters,divulge traffic and run up here like a marathoner chasing scantily clad breasts and a bubble gum ass.'

“Well good for you” James hissed. 

“That's a weak thank you”

“I've not the time for much else, if you'll excuse me I've got another bomb to difuse”

“Yes Kensington Palace, if you're lucky you might get there before it blows up.”

“How the bloody hell do you even-”

The man descended further, swinging himself forward on the wires and landing smoothly at the cemented landing, eyeing James steadily with orbs of the most unnatural green. 

Too unnatural

“Vilas Atigo. That's all I'll offer you.” Reaching out to pat the side of James face. 'Let's see if your brain is faster than your legs.” Unhooking the wire and brushing past James; leaving pinpricks in his wake.

Stunned, James shook himself and grabbed for the wire. Slight burning forming in the base of his spine as he hooked the attachments to his own belt loops, climbed atop the metal bars and threw himself from the window. Arms wrapped about his head to save himself from smashing glass as he plummeted to the ground at a speed that forced what was left of the air in his lungs violently out through each extremity.

Grass proved to be a slightly less awful landing pad than pavement, but James' back wasn't impressed with either of them. Impressing even himself by rolling into a ball and slashing the wire holding him with a single flick of his car key. 

The Aston greeted him and traffic was almost entirely ignored as he raced to Kensington Palace. Closed gates stood in his way and he defied them readily, hoisting his body up them and climbing over top, the cuffs of his trousers snagged at the edges and his arms screamed with exertion.

“Fucking bloody fuck” James mumbled, charging for the doorways.

Kensington Palace was greand and it's driveway grander. A motorbike lay parked,engine running with it's guard standing nearby. But it was enough, enough for James to straddle and thrust into gear, ignoroing the calls behind him of anger and upset.

He told himself it wasn't blind luck,convinced hismelf of such as he drove the motorbike through massive standing French windows and into the splendid tiles and gilded gold mosaics of the floor beneath its wheels. Tire tracks leaving a scandalous array of markings.

Logically,he should have dismounted, instead,he gave the bike a sharp U-turn and drove it up the stairs, bodies hastily escaping the frey at his sides.

He didn't look to see if any feel or failed to do so,up another staircase,and another. Until he was well into the fourth floor. Where nothing but common rooms and bedrooms greeted him. A fancy little 'Off Limits to the Public” sign greeted him,ignoring him.

What wasn't ignoring him was the man that had only introduced himself a “Vilas' swinging back and forth on said sign as though he owned it. Clutched in hand was a single circular globe. Gold and Silver in construction.

“Not bad, Jamie. Not bad at all.” He chanted. 'Though as you can see..a shade to slow.”

“That's not possible.' James snarked,killing the engine. 'There's no way you managed to get here before I.”

“I've my ways' Vilas countered. “So? Was your brain faster than your legs?”

“Neither. I wasn't wasting my energy thinking of your name when I had other priorities.”

“Ah yes,energy. What little you have of it.”

James glared up at him and Vilas swung himself from the sign,landing easily atop the motorbike,looping his arms about an indigent James' waist.

'Come now.” Warm breath ghosting across his ear, making him curiously aware of just how sweaty his shirt was. Light cotton sticking to unshaven skin. “It's not that hard-well...some things perhaps.” Giving an almost indulgent roll of his hips; amused when James grit his teeth. 'But not this.”

Bond tensed, and when he turned, his eyes were like rounded saucers. Indigent and with a mallicious tint to the fine pupils.

'Silva.”

“Ah-ha!” Raoul looked pleased. “So your mind has not suffered quite as severely as your body after all!” Patting at one of Bond's thinning biceps.

“That's not possible.”

“No, darling. It quite isn't. But it seems death is determined to forever sway me. Perhaps that is my punishment,hmm?”

Perhaps there would be time to reconcile that, for now Q spoke roughly into the intercom still attached to Bond's ear.

“Bond its-”

“Tower of London.” Silva cut in. “See if you can't make it there in time to actually difuse the bomb yourself,hmm?”

Bond glared at Silva over his shoulder, and in the split second it took him to lunge back over the bike's handle bars, push Silva to the ground and bend him backwards over the staircase was a crucial second not spend heading out of the Palace and making for the Tower of London. 

Raoul smirked, laughing hysterically even as Bond crushed much of his windpipe.

After all,James wasn't the only one of them that was getting old.

“Oh James, James James..even through all that; you're stll just as tempermental as ever.” Amused at the greyiing fringe tinting the golden blonde. “Really. I'd think of the time, after all. You should be heading for the Tower of London about now. Don't you think?”

“You should be dead” Bond snarked. “Not her.”

Silva lifted his head, sighing and thrusting his knee up into Bond's side and ribcage, throwing him aside and straddling the bike. Pausing only to dust himself off.

“Do you really not think that I know such things?” He asked,rhertorically. “Head for the Tower. Don't be wasting any more precious time. I'll even let you have this one, hmm?”

James glared at him again, but it held in it much less venom. Reminding himself,that yes,he had a job to do.

'Give me that.”

Silva smirked,but he obliged,handing over the motorbike to Bond, who slipped atop it, U-turned and raced back down the stairs. Silva watched him almost fondly before turning back into the intercom.

'Don't blow my cover' Q hissed.

“Relax Grandpa. You're safe.” Silva assured.

He'd make certain of it.

~~

By the time James had reached the Tower of London, forced his way through a crowd of Tourists,police and general populace. Charged down the stairs-tripped once, gone on a wild chase to find himself in the actual dungeons that had been closed for decades-the bomb had detonated.

He was lucky it was a somewhat weaker charge, even as he found himsefl thrown into crumpling brick, heat exploding over the side of his face with a blanket like quality. Singing his flesh and suit in what could have only been seconds. 

Face and hands cutting into the ground as he rolled,toppling over the edge of what might have been wall to ceiling bars in a past life or so. 

Coughing, Bond forced himself to his feet, finally addressing Q in the com-who sounded quite panicked. Or annoyed. Bond couldn't really tell the difference with him.

“007! 007! Come in!”

“I'm here, Q relax.”

“Any casualties?”

“Non that I've seen.' Bond sighed. 'We still don't have a head on the one behind this yet?” Someone,anyone. Just let him kill somebody already. Give him the satisfaction that could really only come by seeing someone else's brain on the sidewalk. 

“Non. But I'm tracing.”

“Trace a little faster.'

Bond cut the connection then, pushing aside fallen rock and growling at the pile of rubble and ash that surrounded him. With nothing truly left to distract him until Q found the next bomb; Bond let his thoughts wander.

If he was being honest with himself, he could admit that the blow to Silva's back had been in no way a kill shot. But for the man to suddenly just..get up again after being left in hypothermic conditions with a knife wound protruding from his flesh; the possibilties seemed quite narrow.

Even since those days when he'd been furiously chasing Silva and his like around; Bond had always found the other to be something he could on some level understand. Maybe not in the sappy,dumbass way where you sat in front of a fire talking about your feelings like a school girl; but understand.

He got it.

Not that it made the man any less of a thorn in his side,however.

Pushing through another pile of rock and broken iron bars, James felt the ache in his lower back becoming more pronounced. Nothing he couldn't cure with a little bit of alcohol back home,he reckoned.

“Need a hand, Jamie?”

Bond sighed, yanking his elbow and forearm out of Silva's reach, pushing through another layer of rubble. 'Fuck off.”

“Suppose I'd rather fuck something else?”

“You can do that as easily as I.”

“Depends. I tend to get their names at least.”

“I don't need a name.”

“Don't you find that lacks in excitement?”

“Hardly.”

“Mhm. Suppose you don't last long enough to worry of it anyway.”

“I imagine I'd last longer than you. I happen to have all my working physical parts.”

Silva smirked, coiling around Bond's body like a snake, lips dangerously close to his ear again. James ignored the long shiver working it's way down the back of his neck and spine.

“Oh Mr Bond. I have all the necessary parts in great functioning order.”

“How lucky for me.”

“Come. Surely you want to know how I did it? Let me buy you a drink. Lick your wounds and give you answers to that which keeps you up at night.”

Bond could have said no.

But alcohol, the promise of it. And the lack of activity in his com-suggesting they were in a current stand still on the bombs-had him saying yes,instead.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this is so so so late. I encountered a massive writers block whilst writing and thus struggled with it. It's probably not as good as it could be but I tried to keep a number of key elements from your list. Happy (Belated) Holidays! Hope you like it all the same.
> 
> I'M ALSO REALLY SORRY that this apparently got cute mid way through -_-. That shift in elements and tone is sloppy writing on my part and honestly,I'm really really sorry. Anyways, I hope it at least incorporates some of what you were looking for. :)
> 
> And finally,there will be a part two to this. I was originally going to make it a one chapter kinda deal,but this was already taking far too long to write and damnit,I wanted to give you _something_


End file.
